Brothers in Arms
by Tonight Josephine
Summary: Faye dives into a world of sin and redemption, and by doing so, finds not only what remains of Spike, but also of herself. [complete]
1. Alive Yet not Living

**Alive yet not Living**

**I.**

_I got bones beneath my skin, and mister…_

_There's a skeleton in every mans house_

_Beneath the dust and love and sweat that hangs on everybody /center _

_There's a dead man trying to get out_

_Please help me stay awake, I'm falling…_

Neon pink letters bearing the words "Rester House" were reflected in the windows of a beat up Honda as the cold, Callisto winds let an empty cup dance along the sidewalk.

It looked dangerous, like the words of a temptress or the song of a siren. The kind of place you would choose if you were going to run from something. The kind of place that you could hide in, the kind of place whre nobody would ask questions. The kind of place where, after leaving, you wonder the next morning if it ever existed at all.

She was freezing.

The bell on the dorr tinkled as she entered the bar, and she was greeted by the scent of old cigarette smoke and stale alchohol. Eyes from every corner of the room scraped her coat, cold hands dirty with longing for the broken woman with folden hair. She took her seat, last barstool, and lit up. She watched as her cigarette transformed into smoke and she watched the gradual transformation of herself to ash.

_It's all... a dream._

_Yeah, just a bad dream_

"I'll take a cowboy," She said softly, in a voice that cracked and burned like embers dying in a fire.

The bartender looked up, startled, and dropped the rag he had been holding, eyes widening. "Didn't expect to see you in here again..."

"I'm suprised that you remember me..."

"You're hard to forget."

"I'm flattered"

The bartender slid the glass down to her. She thanked him softly, as her eyes ran across the bar. It was all the same, the same as when she had first waltzed in. Before, she had been looking for a drink and a place to hide. Before, she had found so much more.

"Gren..."

"Excuse me?"

"A man used to play saxophone here. Went by the name of Gren. Is he still around?"

The bartender paused to look at the woman strangely. "Yeah, I remember him," he finally said, "Not too long ago, the man just... stopped coming. I heard it was some zipcraft accident, but you never know. May have had something to do with all the foreigners that came around."

"He's dead..." Julia whispered, almost a question more than a statement.

"Most likely." The man stood silent for a moment. "Callisto... it's a dangerous place."

"Foreigners?"

"Martians, I think."

"He played the most beautiful songs..."

•

Two Weeks Earlier:

She could see it. The coldness. To Julia it was something that she could see, even before she felt it. Surrounding. Overbearing, a forgotten bleakness that seemed to inhabit dreary room stained the color grey. As if they were paintings. So still...

Blip. Blip.

The lonely sound of a machine taking her pulse was a disturbing and harsh reminder of the fact that she, Julia, was alive.

Blip. Blip.

She opened her eyes. Blurred vision. The machine beeped. Her heart sunk. The dream was not over, she realized, the nightmare continued, and no matter how hard she tried she could not wake up. She tried tried to sit up, yet a sharp pain in her upper back made her fall back onto the hospital bed, weak. A plump nurse passed by, surprised to see Julia awake.

"You've aroused! Good for you!" The nurse exclaimed, poking her head in before entering the room.

"Where... am I?"

"Tharsis Medical," she told her with a cheery smile, as she straightened Julia's blankets and checked one of the machines behind her. "On Mars."

Julia looked down. "I died."

"You're lucky you're alive."

"No... I died."

"This place is hardly heaven for an angel like yourself." The cheery nurse smiled. "Again, you're lucky someone found you in time. Your heart had stopped beating, yet Tarsis Medical is one of the only clinics in the Sol that has he technology to save you. Oh, these modern miracles... people live longer, healthier lives. Why, we had a man in yesterday who had been asleep for over 150 years! Cyrogenics, the man had died decades ago! It's really a blessing..." The nurse babbled on as Julia's mind wandered. How could she be alive? She racked her mind for the last thing she could remember... Spike. His face. His Eyes. His Voice. "Be happy... he's paying for all of your bills. Oh... what was his name... began with a V..." The nurses voice snapped her out of her memory.

'Vicious."

"Yes, that was it." The nurse began to prepare an IV.

"Strange name, if you don't mind me saying. Your lover?"

"Something like that."

•

Callisto. Julia stared into her drink, recalling the time that had pased since she had awoken in the hospital.

Why did he save my life?

Vicious. Had he wanted to kill her, that rainy day, or had his men simply been instructed to fire at will?

And Gren. Spike.

_Play me that song, Mr. Saxophone. Play me that song and I'll let you see me smile. I love that lilting tune, reminds me of secrets I have stashed away. I close my eyes, it's raining on roses. I can see us, the air is warm and your skin is soft. Your hands are on my back. It's raining on roses. I love this lilting tune._

Oh, God, she hated the memories now. She tried to keep them away, locked in boxes, but now they were all slipping out, her past slowly bleeding into the present. Tears rolled down her face, regret pouring like rain in a sleazy bar in the middle of the night.

_I'm past redemtion, just play me the song._

•

"Give me another one," she drawled, raising the hand that wasn't holding the cigarette.

"Don't you think you've had enough?" The bartender replied, taking her glass.

Faye hiccuped.

"I've had enough of it all."

"We're about to close up for tonight, lady. Why don't you go on home?"

"I got nowhere t ogo."

A bunch of drunks hooted from the back. "We can fix that!" They laughed.

"I'm sure you can, bigshot..." She staggered out of the bar after flicking her cigarette in their direction.

She didn't know why she always came back. Late at night, stumbling in, the door always left open for her. Sometimes she would saunter into Jets room, drunk as hell and looking for favors. He would only sigh, get out of bed, and help her into the kitchen as she whispered in his ear. He would make her some food, give her some water, go back to bed. Never a complaint, never a word.

He didn't know why he let her in. Letting her come and go, like a cat, wandering in and out whenever she pleased. Like it was his responsibility to make sure she was eating right. Like it was his responsibility to hold her hair back as she stooped over the toilet bowl and threw up.

Did he owe it to himself, as if he were trying to gain redemption for some past deed? Did he owe it to himself to take care of this broken shell of a woman who had nothing left to give?

And Jet...

He spend more and more time with those damn trees. After all, they were the only living things that would never leave him. The only living things that truly appreciated the painstaking care he gave them. What he did for them. And although he never heard so much as a thank you from anyone, he knew at least the bonsai trees were grateful. And he didn't mind tending to them, giving them all they ever desired. He loved having something to take care of. To protect. And his plants never questioned his descisions, were always obedient, were always faithful. Always grateful.

Or perhaps that was all bullshit. After all, they were only plants. But seeing each healthy, green leaf made him think twice about chucking the damn things into the void of space, which was more than what he could say for his roomate.

So he sat on the bench, clipping here, pruning there, making each and every one absolutely perfect. Down to each tiny leaf. Utter perfection. Utter control. And sometimes he would talk to them, in slow, menial words. Sometimes not even whole sentences, just things he needed to hear...

"Faye was right all along." He told them, taking a swig of whiskey. "Even after living with him for so long she still believed he'd screw her over. Yeah, well, he screwed us all over. Worst of all, we knew it. We knew it damn well..."

That Spike, nothing but trouble.

"Why'd I let him do it? Damn Spike. Damn you." He took another swig. Jet paused, a slow grin spreading across his face. Amusement. "Hey, you ever hear this story?"

He stared at his plants, as if he expected an answer. Random. He was feeling random. He felt like telling a story and it had been a long time since he had told anyone a story. Jet loved his stories. Made him feel important. Made him feel wise, if only to himself. And he would begin to speak, the words flowing out, he loved to watch the look on a childs face as he put together the intricate threads of a tale.

His plants were hardly children but he thought they would do.

"It's about Ronin.You know, masterless samurai. Heh. It's almost an oxymoron when you think about it. Something that did exist, but shouldn't have, that's what ronin were. Man, I haven't heard this story in years. But yeah, after a samurai's master was killed, it was the samurai's duty to kill themselves, as they no longer had anyone to serve. Those who didn't were looked down upon in shame, living on the outskirts of society, lawless desperadoes without a place to go. They only had their swords and the clothes on their back."

"Well, one of these Ronin stories is about.. honor. Hell, they're all about honor. People back then, they couldn't- i hic /i get enough of it. Not like today, when everyone walks around shameless and stupid." Jet shook his head, still smiling. He himself felt kind of stupid, talking to himself like this... "Well, this Shogun needed to impress his Emporer, so he decdied to send him a gift. And the emporer sent a man- Kira- to accept this gift. Well, Kira begame furious with the Shogun for not presenting him with an important enough gift. He was cruel to the Shogun, abused him, riduculed the poor man in front of his samurai and the people of the lands, which was the cruelest thing one could do to another- take away their honor. And one day, the Shogun couldn't take the cruelty anymore. He drew his sword, injuring Kira. Back then, drawing one's weapon was a capital offense, and the Shogun was sentenced to die. They were picky like that. The Shogun was sentenced to commit Seppuku, or ritual suicide. Kira recieved no punishment."

"Well, a bunch of the Shoguns followers begame pretty pissed off. They were angered by Kira's un-samurai like behavior. They thought the Shoguns punishment had been too harsh. And when a Shogun died, his assets- including his samurai- were to be destroyed. His samurai were also ordered to commit Seppuku, along with their master. Yet the samurai refused. They became ronin."

"For two years, these samurai were ridiculed and abused by society, labeled as cowards, without honor or dignity. They disguised themselfs as merchants, street vendors, and drunks to gather whatever information they could on Kira. And one day, they stormed Kira's mansion. They killed all of Kira's guards and warriors, loosing none of their own. The ronin found Kira, hiding, and they beheaded him."

He paused.

"The story isn't over yet. The 47 ronin were brought before the Emporer, who was deeply impressed by their loyalty. And then, the samurai did the unthinkable. All 47 of them-simultaneously- commit seppuku. Took their own lives, as they had been ordered to do in the beginning."

Jet contemplated this for a moment.

"That is loyalty. That is true honor."

Jet sighed and looked at his plants, bottle in hand. He imagined Ed, her goofy looking goggles and vermillion hair, bright eyes looking up at him in awe and delight, the way she always looked when Jet shared a folktale or story.

"I was going to tell that story to Ed. She would have enjoyed it. Always did."

He wondered who was telling her stories now.

•

Faye reclined on the ochre yellow couch, smoking. A dazed look played across her eyes as her cigarette melted into ashes between her fingertips. She barely looked up when Jet hobbled into the room, his leg still bandaged.

"Nice story," sge stated apathetically, "Do you always talk to your plants like that?"

"You're sober." He noted, crossly. "Lemme guess. You ran out of booze money."

"It's called schizophrenia." Faye said, a tiny smirk playing across crimson lips. "You should really get that checked out. I mean, come on. Talking to yourself."

"Look, Faye." He said gruffly, "My leg is shot. Spike is gone. You're going to have to start pulling your own weight around here if you wanna stay."

Faye stopped and looked at him, mid smoke.

"You never asked me to leave." She said, squaring him in the eye.

"Yeah, well, for the past two weeks I've been feeding and sheltering you, and that refrigerator is emptying itself pretty damn quick."

"It's not like I have anywhere else to go!" She cried, flinging her cigarette across the room and standing up, clearly pissed off. "Yeah, well, you had better find somewhere fast."

"I thought we were comrades!" She said accusingly, "Comrades are supposed to help each other."

"Exactly!"

•

_"Howdy all you 10 million cowboys in the Solar System!"_

_"Welcome to Big Shot for the Bounty Hunters!"_

_"Well, you may have heard that Big Shot was cancelled recently!" Judy's peppy voice rang out, "But it turns out that were the only source of infor for bounty heads in the entire sol! With us gone, all you cowboys out there were without your info, so the ISSP is now funding bigshot! Unfortunately, our dear Punch rode off into the sunset, but we've got a brand new host for you all!"_

Faye raised an eyebrow as Judy swooned and giggled.

_"Howdy, ya'll!" A blond looking man dressed in tacky western clothing tipped his hat. "I'm Cowboy Andy, and I'll be giving you the 411 on a host of criminals with bounties bigger'n Texas!"_

_"Wow, you're quite a Cowboy!"_

_"And you're quite a pretty 'lil missy yourself!"_

_"Oh, stop it!"_

Dear God, is the entire show going to go on like this? Faye thought to herself as she lit another cigarette. Why was she watching this shit? It's not like she was a cowboy anymore... but glaring at the brightened screen and staic faux emotion, she half expected to see Spike, across from her, watching the same thing through narrowed eyes.

_"Our first bounty on the list is an ex-syndicate agent assumed dead! Wow, she's really pretty!" Judy cried, as the mug shot came up. _

_"She's worth a whopping 40,000,000 Woolongs! Someone must really want her back!" Andy exclaimed, as Judy cried out her name and a mug shot appeared on the screen. _

_"Julia Alanis Victoria Eochaida!"_

"Julia!" Faye cried out, throwing her cigarette across the room violently. "It... she's... he said... she's dead!" She leaned across the table in disbelief.

"You're not!" Jet appeared in the doorway. "Faye, you know dame well that my leg is shot up and your ship's a pile of scrap metal. There is no way."

"It's her." Faye whispered, staring at the picture. It was her. Julia. The angel. The demon. Spike. She was Spike.

"Who?" Jet asked, hobbling closer. He too stopped and stared.

"Julia."

•

"The fact that she's alive is not an invitation to go out looking for her, Faye." Jet said, staring at the hammered steel floor. "Even if you could she's not yours to find. She's the past. She's a ghost. Leave her and everything else where they belong."

"You can't arguel with 40 million woolongs." Faye said, leaning on her arm. "It doesn't matter where she came from."

"This time it does." Jet told her firmly. "It matters."

"Where else will we get the money?" Faye cried, throwing herself against the table, fists flat against cold metal. "You told me yesterday-"

"A job, Faye." He replied, "Bounty hunting is a freelance hob, and when it doesn't work it doesn't work. One of us is going to have to get a real job. And seeing how you're the only one who can actually walk..."

"It's not just the money, Jet!" Faye replied angrily. "It's a little bit more!"

Jet seemed to catch on. He sighed, then frowned. "Spike is dead, Faye." He told her gravely, "His star fell."

Faye raised an eyebrow. It wasn't about Spike. Well, it was a little bit about Spike. It was about a lot of things. "If that jerk can survive getting shot up, stabbed, and then fall out of a 12 story cathedral and still have strength enough to piss me off, he can live through anything." She said, "But it's not about him! That's not the pont!"

"Then what is it, Faye?" He asked her, looking into her eyes. "What is it?"

"I'm a cowgirl."

She didn't know why she needed this. A million questions raced through her mind, a million stories, a million tears, a million lies. She needed this woman, and not just for the money. Julia was... Faye couldn't describe her. She needed to find out if Julia was just a phantasm, an illusion that found it's way out of Spike's heart and into reality. Was Julia some kind of drug, and once you shot her up your veins you couldn't possibly let go? And she was so much more than an addiction, so much more than a past, so much more than a ghost and so much more than a woman. She was Julia. And Faye needed her, because she knew that Julia would have an answer that she herself didn't know the question to. Julia was Spike.

"I'm a cowgirl." Faye repeated, "And I need to find this girl."

•

She started up her ship. She had a hole in her left thruster, but maybe it would be enough to at least get her to Tharsis. That's where she would start, she would gather information from there.

"Jet!" She cried, "I'm ready to take off!"

"Dammit Faye!" Jet yelled down at her, "Your ship won't even make it to Tharsis! It's going to combust! Just-"

"OPEN THE DAMN HATCH OR I'LL SLAM THIS THING THROUGH IT!"

She began pressing buttons rapidly after takeoff. Sweat stuck her legs to the hard plastic of the rubling seat, she leaned forward, hair in front of her face as she cursed to herself.

"Latitude 43.. north a little bit..." She muttered to herself, trying to comprehend the map and stop her ship from spinning out of controw.

A smoky trail was emitting from the tail end of her ship. She swore again. Red numbers and signals flashed and blinked on her screen. But she couldn't turn back.

"Dammit, Faye..." She said to herself, "Why are you doing this? Is it for Spike?" She scowled. Jet was rubbing off on her, she thought to herself as she rubbed her forehead. His story has really gotten to her, and she scolded herself for letting it. Honor? She didn't need it. The only honor she had ever known was the kind that she had taken advantage of in others. "Honor is for the weak, Faye." She said aloud. "It will only drag you down."

But her mind flashed back to that day. She had only been paired up with Jet and Spike for a couple of weeks, maybe a month. And she had run off, to do some stupid thing, and gotten herself caught. She had walked into a trap, and Jet wouldn't help her. But Spike... she would never forget Spike's voice when he told her that he would come get ger,

"Don't take it personally." He had said.

But nobody had ever really cared enough to save her life before.

"OH SHIT!" The ship roared as a massive jerk caused Faye to scream, and large peices of crimson metal slammed into her windsheild, causing the safety glass to crack, hundreds of peices of glass suspended within each other as the tiny zipcraft tumbled, crumpled, hurtled to the ground... Faye closed her eyes.

•

"I'm sorry to hear about your partner." The man on the phone said sincerely. Jet looked at him, sadly.

"Yeah, well," Jet replied somberly, "It was inevirable..."

"You wanted to know what was going on with the bounties?"

"Yeah." Jet said, "There was a syndicate agent on the list. I thought the ISSP didn't bother with the Red Dragons."

"We don't. We didn't. The major syndicates usually bribe and blackmail their way into the ISSP, managing to influence their descisions to a great extent. Sometimes a few guys slip by, but the ISSP is tired of being under the wing of the crime rings. The Dragons are in a tough place right now, a coup was staged, but the man who won was nearly killed, and inner politics stepped in. They're weak."

"I see."

"We're targeting low-level agents, the ones the bosses don't or haven't had much contact with. If we can get them down, then we can move up to the bigger ones before they know what's going on. They're preoccupied with bigger matters than the ISSP arresting a bunch of useless punks."

"So you're going to bring them down from the bottom?"

"That's the plan." Jet's old friend replied, "But Jet, I would leave it alone. The ISSP hasn't exactly been making good decisions lately. There's no telling how this could turn out."


	2. The Snake that Swallowed the Dragon

**The Snake that Swallowed the Dragon**

_And in between the moon and you_

_the angels get a better view_

_of the crumbling difference between wrong and right …_

Vicious sat upon his throne, towering, built of lies and deceit and the blood of both the guilty and the innocent. He sat above them all, above dignity, above shame. Above honor. He sat and he looked down upon it all with pity and disgust. He didn't need any of it. He was Vicious, head of the Red Dragon Crime Syndicate. Head of an empire.

He controlled everything. He was fully informed of the happenings of the Red Dragons, the White Tigers, the ISSP. He stretched his fingers and marveled at the power he held at his very hands. He had it all. What he had been longing for since before he had even met Spike. He had been waiting for these moments since he was sixteen years old, new to organized crime. And Mao always said he'd go far.

Had Mao predicted this?

Would he have predicted Vicious to not only usurp Mao himself, but the elders? The elders themselves? It was up to him to sever them all, and he did. Oh, he did.

And now he sat, his Katana leaning against him forever stained with the blood of his comrades, his teachers, and all whom he held dear to his icy heart and he felt not pity for them, but regret.

Regret. Regret was something very new to Vicious, and although he would never admit this to anyone, even himself, he was experiencing it. Was it the blood of the innocent? To him, nobody was innocent and so it didn't matter. The inability of others to survive was not his problem. There was no right or wrong about it. It was the law of the land. A basic instinct to either kill or be killed. He did not regret killing anybody. He never had.

And so now that he had a kingdom at his very hands, he felt regret that it was all he could ever have. He felt regret that it was all he could ever want.

"Rocco." Vicious said, to the man at his right, one of the only men who had been faithful to him since Spike has left. Nobody talked about it anymore, despite the fact that the event had been burned into their minds. Spike was a great man, one that could have gone so far if only... but 'if only's' didn't matter. Not to the Dragons. They accepted his fate.

"Rocco. Do you know of a man named Pilate?"

"I don't believe I have heard of him, sir."

"He lived so many years ago." Vicious' voice was coarse. Old, but a spark played behind his eyes. "He was a villain. A king, even."

"I see, sir."

"And one day a man was brought to Pilates feet, one that was truly innocent and the world knew it. Perhaps the only truly innocent man left on the earth. But the crowd jeered, and thirsted for blood and his innocence did not phase them. Pilates will was the will of the people, so he ordered the man to be crucified." Vicious continued, "And so Pilate washed his hands in front of the crowd. He claimed that he washed his hands of the blood of the innocent. And then he sent the man off to die."

"Heh."

"He washed his hands as if that would redeem him." Vicious said, "Tell me, Rocco, if I washed my hands would that redeem me?"

"Is redemption really worth it?"

"No."

He looked at his hands.

_It was raining._

_Holding her coat in cold, wet hands, Vicious stood above her on hard concrete. Her golden hair wasted on the rooftop, pushed crudely out oh those haunting grey eyes that lay closed, her limbs sprawled out, cold and hard. It had been three long years since he had seen the woman. And she was stunningly beautiful, even as death had taken her._

_Julia._

_He stared at her and tried not to feel. This was the woman who had fought beside him every day. He could feel her back against his, the determination in her eyes as she fired, slender fingers clutching the dirty pistol. He could see her hair, that yellow hair, flying behind her as she slammed her heel on the gas of whatever car she was wrecking next. Oh, he had never met anyone who could drive like her. Who could shoot like her. She tamed that car like it was an animal, used her weapon as fangs. She was a beast. His beast. And he looked upon her with pride in his eyes._

_She was his._

_Julia._

_The concrete was stained the color of rust from the blood washed away by ceaseless rain. He wondered what she looked like when she died, when the bullet pierced porcelain skin, when her frail body hit the ground in a slump. He wondered if Spike was with her. He let an empty laugh escape his lips._

_Either you kill him, or you both die._

_But as he looked upon her through pitiless eyes, and remembered the feeling of her skin against his, the damp sheets sticky with sweat and brittle emotion, he found himself thinking that she may have deserved a little better._

Vicious refused to define his feelings for her. He did not consider whether he loved her or not. What would it bring him, knowing that he had loved the girl? He had given his heart and soul to the Syndicate. He had nothing left to give to a woman, and it wouldn't have been worth it if he had. He knew this. It wasn't that he didn't believe in love, it was that he had no faith in it.

And maybe she didn't, either. Maybe Spike was the only one out of the three of them that actually had a sliver of soul left in him. Maybe the Syndicate hadn't drained him completely. But Julia... Julia didn't expect anything from Vicious. She let him use her and came crawling back for more. Was it love? Or was it simply comfort, knowing that the two of them were in the same place. After all, it was natural for creatures, even beasts, to look for familiar things, comforting things.

And in the cold, cruel world of metal and money, Vicious and Julia may have looked upon each other for comfort.

•

"Which one of you did it?" Vicious stared at the men in front of him, his icy stare bearing into the eyes of his men. "Which one of you killed the woman?"

There was no answer from the dozen or so agents lined up before him, and although they tried to hide their nervousness, Vicious could sense the paralyzing fear.

"Tell me now or all of you die."

Vicious did not break the penetrating flare and the men parted, leaving a small, jumpy little man with a messy mop of hair. His shoulder was bandaged, obviously from a gunshot wound.

"Was it you?" Vicious was upon him like a hawk. "Did you kill the woman?"

"I-I was instructed to fire at will, sir!"

"I gave no instruction for you to kill either the woman or Spike." Vicious replied.

"I-I-but..." The man stuttered, cowering.

"Do you take orders from anyone before me?"

"I-it won't happen again, s-sir."

"No. It will not." Vicious's voice echoed throughout the chamber. "Kill him. Find the girl. Take her to Tharsis Medical."

"But sir... the girl is dead."

"Take her to Tharsis Medical. Do not question my decisions."

That was weeks ago. Reports from the hospital had claimed that the girl had indeed survived the treatments, and that she was doing quite well, apparently well enough to have run off. This irritated Vicious, even moreso the fact that he had expected it. Julia never was the type to hang around, even when somebody was doing her a favor. Perhaps it was fear, or perhaps she was just a wanderer at heart. Always looking for her place.

"You are a beast." Vicious said aloud to the empty silence, "That blood will never leave you."

He wondered how long it would take her to realize that.

The spot on his shoulder was sore.

Spike's bullet would do that to you. In all the years Vicious had known the man, he had never known Spike to ever do a half-assed job on anything. He may have lacked delicacy and precision, but he made up for that in other aspects. He always had a backup plan, and if he didn't, to hell with plans. He did what he did and it worked. The man never showed doubt. He never showed fear.

That was perhaps the only thing they had in common, the lack or doubt of fear. Perhaps that's what tied them together in the first place, and perhaps that's what had brought them both down in the final moment. Vicious was delicate. He was clean. He managed to get the job done, no holes, no mistakes. He worked something out, did whatever it was he planned to do, and even afterwards his care and utmost precision followed it through. He prepared for any complications whatsoever.

Spike and Vicious. Opposites, but you know what they say about opposites. With each one bearing the quality the other lacked, they couldn't have been better partners. And until Julia... well, until she came between them everything was just fine.

He remembered the first time he had found them together. He had his suspiciouns, but perhaps he was too wary of the truth to ever act upon them. But this time was different.

"_He'll kill you."_

_"I'll let them say I am dead."_

_"Where will we go?" She asked, her voice straining, "What will de do?"_

_"Live. Be free." He had said, a sharp smile playing across a chiseled face, "It'll be like watching a dream."_

_The door was cracked, their voices crawling out into the hallway, shapr words falling on muffled ears. An unrecognizable pain in his heard, one of the first he had ever felt in his life, stained with blood and lies and deceit but never the sting of heartbreak. Never the sting of betrayal. But he was a grown man. He was Vicious. And he dealt with it the only way he knew how. _

_His best friend. _

_His lover._

_He was trash to them all. _

_So the feeling seeped through him, hurt turning into anger faster than he could recognize it. Spike. The man who had fought beside him all those years. The woman who just nights before lay curled in his bedsheets. It was disgusting. It went against the will of the Order. They did not only betray him, but they planned to betray the Syndicate as well. The two of them would alter plans set by the Elders, the two of them could very well have brought the Syndicate down. _

_His mind wandered and his blood boiled. They were selfish. Cruel. Putting themselves before what truly mattered- The Order of the Red Dragons. You didn't just leave. _

_"Are you planning to betray me?"_

_"Vicious!"_

_"Even if it's a dream, it's an impossibility."_

_The cold metal of the barrel buried in golden hair, the way she sat, noble, dignified, never afraid. Even in the moment that could very well have been her death, the thought of a bullet to her head did not concern her. _

_"Are you going to kill him?"_

_"Yes. With your hands."_


	3. Ghost Train

III.

**Ghost Train**

_She buys a ticket 'cause it's cold where she comes from_

_She climbs aboard because she's scared of getting older in the snow._

_Love is a ghost train rumbling through the darkness_

_Hold onto me darling I've got nowhere else to go_

_"Maybe this is the one. The one I don't come back from. The end." His voice was heavy. Serious, but gentle. And the sound of his words was enough to bring her to tears. But she only stared at her cigarette and bit her lip as the realization settled in. _

_"Just messing with your head!" He laughed when he saw the hurt reflected in her emerald eyes. But it wasn't enough. They both knew the inevitable and it shook her in a way she couldn't imagine. "But would you come for me if it were true?"_

_"Lunkhead."_

Images of the man wove in and out of her mind as she drifted in and out of consciousness. As she opened her eyes, her vision was blurred and yet she sensed warmth. The smokey smell of a fire, of food, wafting in. As she became more and more aware of her surroundings, she could sense softness beneath her. Her eyes darted around at the hundreds of twentieth century items crawling up thin walls.

A soft groaning noise escaped her lips as she attempted to sit up. She was weak.

"Where...where am I?" She said softly, wondering if anyone inhabited the silence. "Am I alive?"

Nobody answered for a long time, until a low voice found it's way to Fayes ears. The voice reminded her of deep forests, of musty houses, of things that had long since ceased to be. The voice awakened something in her that she could not identify.

"You are weak, Wandering Rose."

It was the best food she had ever tasted, and this was from a woman who got around.

"Mhmhmg." Faye mumbled, her mouth full. "Vis is really goo!"

Laughing Bull only smiled and nodded, as the small child beside him looked at the woman strangely. The child had never seen anything like her fefore, and edged closer to the old man. In her smidged makeup and tousled hair, Faye had been clothed in old shorts and a 2-th century tee shirt, bandages soaked in medicinal herbs crept up her arms and legs, suffocateing her as they healed three of her broken ribs. Over this, a large, heavy, bearskin had been draped across her bruised shoulder. And she ate like a wild animal.

Faye sat the bowl down when she was finished, burping crudely. The old man didn't eem to mind her terrible ettiquette, instead only offered her more.

"I don't even know your name!"

"You may call me Laughing Bull."

Laughing Bull puzzled her. Why would this man, a complete stranger, give a rats ass about her? It's not like she had done anything for...suddenly, a look of horror crossed her face. Had he...? Had she...?

"You are looking for something." Laughing Bull stated, as if to read her mind, "I have seen it. And so Wantantanka, the Great Spirit, has sent you to me."

Faye raised an eyebrow. This guy must be nuts.

"You are looking for him."

"How did you-?" She let the bear skin slip off her shoulders as she jumped up. "Who the hell are you!"

"I have seen him. The star for which you seek." He spoke in slow, menial, terms. "The star is dangling from a thin string. The star has yet to fall. You must hurry."

"What are you talking about?" She cried, "What IS this!"

"Each organism, each living being has a star." He said slowly, "When a new life begins, a new star is born. The guardian star, the star that holds a spirit. And when that spirit dies, the star falls and disappears."

"You must hurry, Wandering Rose. His star has yet to disappear."

"Why are you calling me that?" Her voice level was rising. The man frightened her, his cryptic language, his strange ways...

"Take your ship. It has been fully repaired." He told her, ignoring her inquiry. "Hurry, before it is too late. Save the star. May the Great Spirit guide you."

_...Would you come for me if it were true?_

•

As the redtail streaked across the vermillion Martian landscape, Laughing Bull's words rang in her head.

_The star is dangling from a thin string... the star that holds a spirit... his star has yet to disappear_

What the hell does that mean?

But she knew exactly what it meant.

Spike was alive and he was out there.

Faye was never the type to beleive in things like that, or maybe she denied the fact that she did. She rarely liked anything that didn't have a logical explanation behind it, and she never liked the unknown at all. Perhaps it was because she had a hard time taking advantage of it, or maybe it played into some sort of God thing. Faye obviously believed in some sort of supreme being because she was afraid of, despite the fact that she would never admit it. She went to a Catholic Girls School, and although she had little or no memory of it, one of the beliefs they had so graciously shoved into her brain had stuck-

One of these days, you're gonna be knockin' on heavens door, and you had damn well better be on your knees.

Faye tried to ignore this. She tried to account for all the times she had been on her knees.

Actually...

Well, those times didn't count. Still the concept of forgiveness was foreign to her. Sure, she tried to beg Spike or Jet for forgiveness as a last resort all the time. But between her desperate pleas and empty promises lay the hope of food, money, and/or cigarettes.

She wondered if God played cards.

•

"That'll be 70 woolongs, Ma'am." He looked at her dully. She raised her eyebrow. He was a zit faced dull looking skinny teenager, and Faye decided that she hated him.

"Uh... lemme see if I've got that..." Faye smiled a winning smile and looked the pasty boy in the eye. "It doesn't seem like I do."

"Sorry, lady," He said, eyes narrowed, "No cash, no gas."

"Oh, come on." She cooed, "Couldn't you let me off this one time..." She bent over the counter, pushing heavy cleavage into his face. Faye glanced at his nametag. "Couldn't you please, uh... Marty?"

Ten minutes later, Faye lay virtually exposed on top of the counter. The boy now seemed to be very interested.

"Uh, um..." He was beet red, and rather shocked, but seemed to be enjoying the whole thing very much. "I'm not sure my, uh... manager..." He loosened his collar, sweat dripping off his greasy forehead, eyes taking in her incredibly large breasts shoved in his face. "Maybe we could meet up sometime later, hm?"

"Forget it, kid." Faye said flatly, buttoning her top. She shoved her gun into his face. "Just give me the fucking gas."

The Redtail lay parked in some kind of car lot in an unidentified city somewhere on Mars. She kicked her ship and cursed loudly.

"Dammit, Faye!" She rubbed her temples. "What the HELL are you doing!"

There she was. Scantily clad, with only her ship, her wit, and the hope of rescuing a lunk headed cowboy from his inevitable doom. Smart. Real smart. Where was she gonna look? Search every city on Mars? Hell, was he even ON Mars? Where was Julia? Who was she looking for, now, anyway?

And now she was lost.

"HE COULD BE ANYWHERE IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING UNIVERSE."

Faye let out a high pitched scream.

•

Blue grey buildings against a grey sky, cold winds that would chill you to the bone. Sad. Destroyed. Forgotten. Warehouses and junkyards and trashy bars and tranny-whores and sax players. To some it was disgusting, a temporary hiding place. But to others it was devastatingly beautiful. A fallen city struck by weather and poverty and heartbreak.

Callisto.

Maybe she went because she knew she could make some quick cash. Maybe she went because she knew nobody would ever find her. Or maybe she went because it was the first place in the world where someone actually took the time to understand her when she didn't even understand herself.

She sat on the cold concrete steps of an abandoned building. She had no money for a drink, or even a pack of cigarettes. She was freezing. She was 23 years olf and freezing. She was 23 years old and falling back on all the places she went wrong.

Faye somehow believed her past would complete her. After all, isn't that what everyone was looking for? Completion? She recalled standing in the shower of the Bebop, water pounding on her naked back, memories flooding her faster than she could even breath. And they were so distant and so familiar and so terrifying.

But they didn't bring her anywhere.

_She drew a rectangle in the shape of a coffin in the dust and lay down and stared at the blood red sky. She imagined herself as a little girl, innocent. A little firl who didn't drow her sorrows in cheap beer, or smoke clove cigarettes until her mouth tasted like ash, a little girl who didn't need to cheat or lie or steal or seduce greasy Quick-Stop clerks because she couldn't afford 70 woolongs worth of gas. She imagined herself as a little girl, beautiful, smiling, unbroken. _

_She imagined the soft pat of her saddle shoes against pavement, a soft breeze blowing and the trees laughing alongside her. She pushed the iron gates open, remembered that the left one squeaked but she always pushed it the hardest anyway, and she burst through the majestic doors into the foyer and acould smell potatoes baking in the oven and the aroma of her fathers pipe. A dark haired woman serenaded down the staircase to engulf her daughter in folds of Elizabeth Taylor perfume and a terry bathrobe and would you please tuck your shirt in, darling, because it looks so messy. This was hers. _

_This all belonged to a little girl with a big smile and a million little reminders that she was loved. _

Faye began to sob, choking, chest heaving. What was she looking for? Julia? What would Julia bring her? Only memories of Spike, and the realization of something she could never, ever, have. And then the old Indian. His star bullshit about Spike being alive. So now what?

She was all worn out with no place to go.

•

The key was dirty. Worn and scratched and bent slightly. She wondered if it still worked, or if the locks had been changed or if that was even still his home.

Home. It was a funny word.

But she slid the key into the lock, turned it, and heard a soft click. Julia stood there, in the blue apartment building, sixth floor. She didn't open the door. She just stood there.

Then she went inside.

His apartment was warm, although the heating had long since been shut off. But there was something about the place- the dusty piano, the wood paneled walls, the photographs pinned to the wall, all of it. Something that radiated comfort and warmth and ... love.

_Oh, Gren…_

She could see him so clearly now, sitting across from her on his sofa, just... listening to her. She had never known what it was like before she met him, to be listened to like that. His eyes, bearing into her, yet not in any way intimidating, a slight smile across his face that seemed to say that he knew what she meant, that everything would be fine.

_"Tell me." Gren had asked her, as he poured steaming tea into a crystal glass. She was suprised at him, when he didn't prompt her to take off her clothes as soon as they waltzed in the door. But he wasn't like that. _

_"What is there to tell?" She replied, reaching for the glass. _

_"Your eyes," he said, "They tell me you have a story."_

_"There's nothing to tell. I'm just one of those girls..."_

_"Everyone has a story"_

_She stared at him. His features were soft, his face was beautiful. Androgynous. And in his eyes? It was painful to look at them. _

_"There was a gun." She began, "There was a man..."_

Julia slowly stepped into the room. Two glasses still sat on the table, cold, one half full. She wondered, who was with him on the last night of his life? His saxophone case lay lifeless by the chair. She knelt, and opened it.

_"Play me that song, Mr. Saxophone. Play me that song and I'll let you see me smile."_

_She came in, to hear that song, almost every night, barely touching the drink she ordered. And she didn't take her eyes off of him, she loved to watch him play. He put so much passion into his music, as if it weren't just sound wafting out from the golden instrument, but his soul, released through that crying saxophone... as if it were the only thing he had left. _

Julia softly shut the case. Standing up, she walked over to where the pictures were. An entire wall, covered in photographs. As if he believed he could find closure from the photographs on the wall. As if he believed he could find himself.

A red light on the answering machine flicked. She pushed the button, curious.

_"Gren... you're not there? I'm out with 'horoutou' along with the 'mangan' and 'ura dora.' It's 32,000. I'll be waiting."_

Vicious' voice. Somehow, Julia was not suprised.

i So he finally foun him. So he finally found an answer. /i 

And she remembered... how long he had waited.

_"We risked our lives on Titan. Side by side, we fought. We suffered. We died. And the friends you make there, they're the ones you remember forever. The ones that you can truly trust. I trusted him so much he was like a guardian. I loved that feeling. But with that comes betrayal. And the worst thing in the world is the sting of betrayal."_

_"They say betrayal is the highest form of love."_

_"Oh?"_

_"To betray the one you love is to inflict upon yourself the most impossible of deep pains, and to willingly submit yourself to that is an action which can only be caused by love."_

_"That's very wise, Julia." He said softly, considering what she had just said. "But if you love someone, why would you betray them?"_

_"If it wasn't love, could there be betrayal?"_

Julia had once read somewhere that Callisto was a beautiful girl who hoped to always remain innocent. Myth had it that Callisto allowed the god Jupiter to seduce her, and when his wife discovered this she bacme angry. So Jupiter turned Callisto into a bear.

Julia somehow felt connected to this story, to this planet. The story of a young woman who was turned into a beast by the will of a man.

So she kept coming back. To the bar with the beautiful music. To the cheap apartment with photographs pinned to the wall. To the feeling of being completely and utterly alone in a world of strangers and ice, and then discovering something like love.

She stayed with Gren and they kept each other company. They never consummated their love, or even recognized it, because they didn't need to. They kept each others secrets in locked boxes, and the only thing they could ever do for one another was understand. They inderstood each other, and that was so much more than anyone else had ever done for them.

•

She could feel her spine begin to numb as she leant against the icy lamp post. It was so cold it burned her. The street corner looked deserted, forgotten, even as she ran a glass nail up her bare leg and pushed out her breasts in the hopes of enticing someone, anyone, before her walls fell away. She tried to look sultry and sexy, but she only looked cheap and cold and tears began to gather in the corners of mascara coated eyes. She wanted to go home.

Suddenly, a dark car pulled up beside her. Faye cirled her crimson lips upward and waltzed over to the tinted window. She let porcelain fingers trace the outline of her thin figure as the window began to roll down.

"Hey there." Faye cooed, unable to see the figure inside, "Looking for some company tonight?"

All of a sudden, the flourescent light hit the driver of the vehicle, and Faye could see that it wasn't a desperate sex starved maniac at all. She let a small gasp escape her lips.

"As a matter of fact I was, Miss Valentine." Julia said, a crooked smile dancing across her lips.

She lit a cigarette. In all her times of confusion and distress, there was really nothing like a cigarette. She would have preferred an answer to all of this, but all Julia did was offer her a smoke and that was just fine too.

"We have a habit of running into each other." Julia told her, blowing smoke out of the window.

"Thanks for picking me up," Faye replied.

"You looked pretty desperate out there."

"You were his comrade." Julia said, her tone accusatory and sad.

Faye only sighed. She lit another cigarette and sighed. Finally, she only said, "Yes."

"What was he like, in the last moments of his life? What was Spike like?"

They were in Grens apartment, Faye draped across the couch, Julia sitting upright across from the glass table, with a dignified grace one would expect from a much older woman. Or a Queen.

Faye sighed again, her head resting ponderously on her shoulders. Julia didn't press her to answer, only watched the woman and waited for her to speak when she was ready. And Faye was trying not to cry. She hated herself for crying for Spike. He wasn't hers. He would never b be /b hers. And there she was, spilling her guts to the woman who loved him. A woman she envied for more reasons than one.

"Devastating." She finally said, her voice soft and on the brink of tears. "Like a man who was ready to die."

Julia closed her eyes. She remembered him, all of him. The way he had to keep flicking his lighter because he could never remember to refill it. The way he cursed at his ship or car or whatever the hell was breaking down on him at the worst possible moments. The way he laughed when somebody did something stupid, or the way he cracked a sarcastic comment at something that required utter seriousness. The way he crudely devoured whatever food was place out in front of him. And the way he looked as he stood in the alley, smokeing, dropping cigarettes like bombs and holding those roses as it rained. Roses for her. And it broke her heart over and over again.

"I remember a few weeks before it all began." Faye continued, after a long pause, "We were always screwing around with each other. This time it was a pack of cigarettes. I remember yelling at him, screaming that they were mine and that I had bought them last week and he mistook them for his. And he called me a liar and told me to give back the damn pack before he kicked my sorry ass off the ship for good. And we yelled at each other back and forth until I finally dropped the cigarettes down the toilet and that was the end of that."

Julia smiled. A funny, lilting smile. But Faye only sighed, her own cigarette buring and wasting.

"I knew they were his all along."

"Did you love him?" Julia asked. It was a stupid, random, question. She didn't know why she asked it, and she felt sorry that she did. She wondered how Faye would react to it.

"Yes." Faye said, suprising even herself. She never thought of herself loving Spike. He was the guy who always left the toilet seat up and never lent her money and complained of her general existance. But as she thought about it, she realized that Spike was one of the only people she actually came to trust. There was only one other person she could recall being able to trust, and she could also recall him betraying her. But Spike... "I trusted him enough not to let someone shoot me in the back... but not enough to let him see the feelings in my eyes."

Julia chuckled at this. "He was hard not to trust. He was always so sure of everything he did." Smiling, she tilted her head back. "Naturally, I trusted him with my life. Now... trusting him with his life, well, that's another story."

Faye laughed. A tiny little laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

"He was a brilliant idiot."

It was easy, talking to Julia. She was never judgemental, and even if she were, Faye wouldn't have minded. She admired the woman, in all her stoic grace, perhaps because she was so very, very, wise. She didn't seem like the type to ever be lost or afraid. She didn't seem like she needed anything, whether it be sex or money or men or even comrades to make her feel worth something. Maybe she knew she was worth everything, or maybe she accepted the fact that she wasn't worth anything. Or maybe that was all bullshit, and she was simply Julia.

"So why did you do it?" Faye asked her, staring off into space. Julia had told her the entire sad story. And all hard feelings Faye still harbored for Spike seemed to melt away. All the time he had insulted her and called her a wench and a liar, or stolen i her /i cigarettes seemed inconsequential compared to what he had been put through. "Why didn't you go with him when he asked you to? Didn't you love him?"

"His eyes were different colors." Julia said gently, her voice heavy and her words seem to drip with pain, "He always said that one eye saw the past, and the other saw the present. But I know when he looked at me he saw the future, for the first time. He saw something other than the drugs or the money or the killing. He saw me as something more than the beast I had become. But that was all I was and that was all I knew." She paused to run her slender fingers through her hair. She always moved with a kind of sadness, like an old film. "I was afraid. Of leaving, of what would become of us. I knew we couldn't run. I knew eventually the Syndicate would track us down, hunt us, kill us both. So when he asked me to meet him at the cemetary, I didn't go. I left. I'd like to say didn't go because I wanted to protect him from Vicious. That may have been true, because I never would have forgiven myself if I he had killed him. But I left because I was afraid."

The two women looked at each other.

"It didn't occur to me that by betraying him I would be killing him more painfully than Vicious ever could"

"If you love them, set them free." Faye said, drawing another cigarette out of the pack. "Wonder what asshole came up with that..."

"You know, there are a lot of things I could say to make the whole situation sound better than it really is. To sugarcoat it, to say that I left him for his own good. For the syndicate's good. Or I could do the exact opposite, exaggerate it all and turn it into some monster that's entirely worse. I don't know which one of the two I prefer, or if I'd rather leave it as it is and deal with it that way. I was never encouraged, even as a child to make up stories. But the world is bleak without storybooks and takes and jokes and things to fill the world with words. Any words. Happy words, sad words, angry words. The words you can't say out loud, even though they're right there, waiting to come out. So I guess I'm missing something on the inside, and maybe I thought he'd be the one to give it back to me. But I won't make up stories about us, that's one promise I can keep." Julia sighed as she said this. The woman was a million kinds of tired, a million kinds of broken. And Faye looked at her with pity. Faye was never the type to pity anyone, but her heart filled with sorrow for Julia.

"My world revolved around him, Faye." Julia continued, her voice so very soft, "And it was dangerous for me. When I joined the Syndicate, I didn't really think about what I was doing, or what would become of me. Nobody did. And I became so entangled in a web of lies and blood, that when love came creeping along it broke me. I was so afraid. And so I ran."

"And now he's gone." Faye said, her tone accusatory. "Just like that!"

"But I loved him." Julia said tragically, "And when I close my eyes I can still see him, images of him, the happier Spike. The way he sat on the front steps of my apartment building, head against sky, fingertips so very near to the dome of heaven. And I can't believe that the man I see there is the one that floods my haunted dreams, chasing me down like a hunter who just won't tire until he has his prize."

"And so that's your story, Julia." Faye said, after a long time. "It's tragic. Heartbreaking. Enough to bring someone to their knees." She stared at the floor. "But at least you have a past! At least you have something to shape you!"

Then Faye burst into tears. Hot, angry tears of jealousy and regret and fatigue and failure rolled down her face and burned paths into her cheeks. Julia didn't know what to do. She had a feeling that putting her arm around the woman in a maternal fashion, or patting her shoulder in psuedo comfort would be a showy, empty thing to do, so she only waited until Faye had cried herself out and was ready to speak.

"I thought that my past would make me whole again." Faye sniffled, "I thought I'd have somewhere to belong. But nothing came out of it. I'm all alone again."

"We all have our ghost trains." Julia said slowly. " Even you."

"I don't understand."

"Ghost trains. Your life is like a train full of ghosts, and they're strung out behind you. Trains of memories and moments that follow us wherever we go. Pieces of people and things latch on, and Faye, they never let go." She said, "And you may think you have no ghosts, but you do. And I do. And everyone does. Spike is a part of my ghost train, as he is of yours."

Faye only stared at the hard wood floors, dark smudges gathering around her eyes from mascara and eyeliner, black.

"Love is a ghost train, Faye." She continued, "Love is getting on the train together with all your respective ghosts. And the longer you're in it, the more you show each other all of these ghosts. And it's hard for people to do, but you must accepts Spike's ghosts because that's what finally killed him."

"He could have had a future."

"No." Julia said painfully, "He died long before he left you. And when he finally fell, he went with honor and that's all that we could ever ask for."

"Honor again." Faye spat, her tone loud, angry. She couldn't understand it. "We're all better off without it."

"That may be." Julia said, "But it's something we all hope for, despite where it leads us."

"I don't need it."

"Spike did." Julia told Faye as much as she was telling herself. "I left him rotting in shame. And he couldn't live with that."

"He was a ronin."


	4. Face Forward

IV

**Face Forward**

_Get right to the heart of matters_

_It's the heart that matters more_

Morning came unwelcome. Neither one knew what to do, or where to go. Before, they had taken it one step at a time. This lead to that which led to this which brought them together, but what then? The two stood outside the apartment building, icy particles falling as they shuffled their feet in the snow.

Suddenly, Julia held out her hands.

"I want you to take me in." Julia said, offering her wrists to Faye.

"What are you talking about?"

"You said there was a bounty on my head." Julia replied, "Turn me in. I'm tired of running. I ran from Spike. I ran from Vicious. And I don't think I can run anymore." There was truth in her eyes. "I'm all worn out."

Faye opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

"After I get out, I'll go to Vicious." She said firmly, "I'll face it all."

They didn't get far. Suddenly, a dark limo pulled up beside them. A man in syndicate attire stpped out, gun in hand, as other men sat heavily armed inside the vehicle. "Get inside."

Faye gasped shortly, but Julia, Julia remained calm. After all, she was expecting it. She hadn't bothered to cover her tracks, or even to hide. Vicious probably suspected Callisto the minute he discovered her absence.

So Julia calmly stepped into the vehicle. Graceful. Dignified.

Like a woman ready to die.

"Go, Faye." Julia said, from inside the back seat. "Go home."

"No, she goes too." The man said. "Orders from the top. Get in, both of you."

"She has no business with us!" Julia cried, but the man beside her jabbed her with the butt of his assault rifle, as Faye was shoved brutally into the backseat.

Faye bit her lip. She was afraid. Spike, Julia, Vicious. How did she manage to get dragged into it all? She thought about Jet. Jet hadn't had much of a place in recent events, yet she found herself suddenly thinking of him. All of a sudden, she felt rather selfish. She had done what Spike had done- left, with no regard for anyone else. And now he was alone, with a gimp leg, after all that he had done for her. She wondered what he was doing. Still tending to those plants? And he hadn't even tried to contact her. Her bracelet, lay cold upon her wrist. She had to only press and hold the button on the right to contact the Bebop, not that she would try to, but it was there.

Yet it hurt her a little bit to realize he hadn't even tried to find her.

Maybe he had finally given up.

Maybe he was tired of continually chasing her.

Maybe he had just let go.

•

"Julia." Vicious. His voice was raw. His eyes were cold. Glass eyes. The eyes of a snake. "Did you really think you could run?"

"Apparently." Julia replied.

"Take them both to the chamber."

•

Faye and Julia leant against the cold wall, arms chained above them, muscles aching. And Faye, she had never felt more forlorn or abandoned. She had been in many a bad situation, but chained in a stone cellar of a major crime syndicate next to her dead comrade's ex lover was a new one. And for the first time in her life, she couldn't run.

"Will they kill us?" Her voice was soft. Weak, like a butterfly with broke wings. Beautiful in it's own devastating way.

Julia paused, blond hair falling upon her angelic features. Perhaps she didn't know the answer, or perhps she didn't want to hear it. But finally, the woman spoke. "Yes."

Faye began to tremble, fragile limbs jarring across the cold stone. She looked around her, blood spattered upon dirty concrete, the stench of death and damp and darkness surrounding her. So this was where she would die. She wondered, how many others had died where she was? Would she be able to con her way out of this one? Would Vicious hop into bed with her in exchange for her life?

Suddenly she felt dirty. Cheap, worthless. She felt like the only thing she had ever accomplished was the ability to lie and cheat and piss people off. And in the last moments of her life, she wondered would even remember her. Jet obviously didn't give a shit anymore. She had no friends. No family. She wouldn't be "survived" by anyone, not anyone at all.

Honor. Why did her mind keep coming to that word? Was it because everyone around her seemed to have some? Perhaps that was why Jet put up with her and Spike for that long. Was it honor? Jet had lived a life of shame, once upon a time. Serving the dogs at the ISSP, their dirty secrets and pretty little secrets. And then his woman, the one he loved, left him rotting in filth, taking with her whatever dignity he had left. So Jet, Ronin that he was, desperately tried to regain his honor by protecting Faye and Spike, no matter how much they set him off. It was his duty. And she knew that when he finally left, he would die in peace and he would be remembered and survived and looked upon fondly, the honorable Black Dog, the protector.

And Spike. Dirty blood ran through his veins, the blood of a beast. He killed and watched those he killed suffer. He lived a life of shame and maybe one day he realized that with every bullet he fired he destroyed a part of himself, until Julia came rolling along with everything he had ever lost along the way. And then she killed him. So there was the man who had died once before, died shamefully because he could not face his fate. And Faye finally understood why he had to go. Why he left them. He had to die, he had to face what he had fled from, he had to regain his honor.

But what about her? In the last moments of her life, how could she regain honor? She felt worthless. Worthless. But as she thought about it more, she realized that maybe dying was a good thing. Perhaps she could start over in the next life. She would be worth just as much in death as she would be in life. If she were to live through this, where would she go? What would she do? She didn't have a home.

"Faye." Julia spoke, her voice heavy. "You know I won't live through this. But you can."

"I don't want to."

"You have to."

"I have nowhere to go."

"Faye." Julia smiled to herself, a sad but beautiful smile, "Sometimes it's too late before people realize that where you belong isn't defined by a house, or a comfort, or even a memory...it's not where you are, it's who you are with. Do you understand?"

Faye just stared at her.

Julia's words had hit her hard, as if somebody had managed to turn on the light in a darkened room, or even as if somebody had hit her very hard with a large brick. For as long as she could remember, she believed that if she could remember where she came from, if she could find that stupid "water-sploosh," as Ed so delicately put it, if she could find even the dust and rubble of what was once a house, she would find home and she would be complete.

It wasn't that she didn't feel comfortable on the Bebop. It wasn't that she didn't work well with the people on it, if only on special occaisions. It was that she never really regarded it as a i home. /i It was a giant hunk of steel and computer that she managed to con her way into, only to discover that the people on it were complete jerks- generous jerks,- but jerks nonetheless, that happened to own food and guns. So she settled down, because it was better than sleeping under a bridge or becoming a drug addicted prostitute. It wasn't a home. It was simply an option. A temporary place to set up camp until she found out where she truly belonged.

Suddenly, the Bebop had become her past and suddenly she missed it.

They say you can never go back to the times when you were truly loved.

Faye saw Spike's eyes as he watched her, letting her cheat at blackjack until he had lost all his chips. Faye saw Jet against the hot stove of the Bebop, cooking up some culinary marvel that was generally ramen. She saw Spike, Jet, Ed, Ein and herself chasing each other around the main living area of the Bebop, each trying to kill one another over some piece of inconsequential bullshit. She heard the way Ed affectionately called her "Faye-Faye," and remembered the time she drew eyebrows on Ein with a jet black magic marker. She remembered conning Jet out of his clothes and possessions in a rigged game of dies, and she remembered the slack jawed Spike draped over the yellow couch, too hung over to yell at her for eating his food or stealing his cigarettes. She remembered being able to smoke with Spike on the deck of the ship, staring out into the vermillion Mars sunset, dropping cogarette ashes into each other's beer, and laughing when one of them forgot and took a sip. She remembered those rare beautiful moments with Ed painting her toenails, Spike smoking on the couch, Jet flipping through channels on the TV, and all four of them totally... getting each other.

They starved each other.

They covered each other.

They beat each other up.

And maybe, just maybe, they loved each other.

•

"I'm sorry." Julia said softly, an echoing whisper that flew loudly across the room. Faye didn't know who or what she was apologizing to, and so she remained silent.

Hours passed. The two women, chained roughly against the wall, lost all sense of time and place. Moments turned to hours, and Faye and Julia remained lost in memories and regret, the only sound throughout the chamber feathered breathing.

Minds wandering.

•

"Vicious has requested your presence in his company." Two syndicate agents stepped into the chamber, voices somber yet startling. "It is in your best interests not to resist." They stepped over, footsteps screaming, to unlock the shackles that pinned the women to the concrete wall. Their rough wrists brushed against thin arms, as the locks clicked Faye could feel the cold metal of a gun's barrel against her bare skin. She crumpled to the ground, weak, but Julia stayed calm. Composed, as if this were all natural. As if it had happened a million times before.

Julia glanced at Faye, a ferocious glint in her silver eyes, and her lips tilted upwards in a splintered smile. So Faye smiled back, narrowed her eyes, and shoved her cold fist into the mans gut, wrenching the gun out of his fingers. She shoved the butt of the weapon into his face and watched him crumple to the ground, unconscious. Turning to Julia, she could see that she had done more or less the same.

"I thought you said you were going to face him." Faye glanced at Julia, grinning.

"I didn't mean to drag you into it." Julia replied, eyes scanning the room, nostalgia setting in. "I know the way."


	5. Past Redemption

V

**Past Redemption**

_I wanted to see you walking backwards_

_And get the sensation of you coming home_

_I wanted to see you walking away from me_

_Without the sensation of you leaving me alone_

_I wanted the ocean to cover over me_

_I wanna sink slowly to the bottom without getting wet_

_Maybe someday I won't be so lonely_

_And I'll walk on water every chance I get_

Julia and Faye took the chance to dart out of the chamber. They shot down endless hallways and chambers, relentless, unceasing. Agents clumsily pursued, shouting obscenities and firing ruthlessly.

The women did not glance back, but bullets showered the walls, glass shattering at every corner. They were agile. They were quick. They knew what they were doing, and it seemd as if they had done it a million times before. And as they raced down darkened halls and and steel corridors, Faye couldn't help but dwell upon the fact that, right at that moment, she was at the right place in exactly the wrong time. She entertained the idea of she and Julia. Partners. Comerades. They would have worked well together. They could have. They shared the same soul.

Shooting down doors and flying up stairwells, breathless and so very alive, they reached the top of the massive building. Bursting through the door into the night air, they gasped for breath.

"They're catching up!" Julia shouted, running to the edge of the roof and looking down upon the street below. Faye stumbled, fidgeting with the bracelet on her wrist, trying to pick up someones reception. Anyones reception. i Oh, Jet… /i 

The door from the stairwell kicked open, as syndicate agents piled out. They formed a semi-circle around the two women, and prepared to shoot.

"Hold your fire." A dark and looming figure stepped through. Vicious. "Julia. I assumed that you have learned by now that you can never truly escape." He approached her, tracing an icy finger along her chin. "I am going to kill you."

A fire behind Julia's eyes flickered. For one only feels truly alive when they are so close to death. A gun found it's way against Julia's breast.

"A gun, Vicious?" She asked him, staring into cold eyes. "I expected something more interesting than a bullet to the chest."

"Don't you recognize this weapon, Julia?" He asked her, removing it from her chest and placing it below her eyes. "The Jericho. Spike used this gun. And so it is only fitting that you die by it."

Julia's eyes opened wide and she gasped, intaking sharply.

"Yes, you should recognize this gun. After all… didn't you give it to him?

"You sully it with your fingertips." Julia spat, defiance in her eyes. "It is your pride that will bring you down, Vicious." Her stare remained unbroken. "You forget that you as well are mortal."

"That is beside the point. You will join Spike in death, as you deserve."

"Did Spike truly deserve to die?" Julia asked him, her voice painful. "Do I truly deserve to die?"

"You and Spike betrayed both the Syndicate and I. That alone is reason for death."

"I hardly recall your innocence in the matter."

"Do not talk to me about the innocent." Vicious replied, his voice cold. "Not one of us is innocent. We are stained from birth and there is nothing we can do. Guilt and innocence bleed into one and the only thing that truly matters is that we survive." He pressed the cold metal into her chest and watched her wince. "And that we have a reason to survive."

"And I suppose your reason is to bring the syndicate into glory?"

"Yes." He replied, "And your reason is gone. You could have gone far with the Red Dragons, but now you are a beast without fangs who lacks it's will to fight."

Julia reached into the pocket of her coat, pulling out her own weapon. It had been a long time since she had used it.

"You can put that away, Julia." Vicious replied, "Look at the men surrounding me. Do you really hope to kill me?"

"No," she said, "You are already dead. You have always been a syndicate puppet."

"And you it's whore."

She placed the barrel against her golden hair. The cry of a gunshot echoed throughout the fallen city.

"JULIA!" Faye cried, rushing to look over the ledge, just in time to see her silhouette crumple to the ground far below.

But Vicious only smirked. "Honor, hm."

Faye only stood there, aghast. She was unable to move, to speak. Her voice lay stuck in her throat, crimson lips parted. Vicious advanced upon her, running a cold finger up her bare chest and pushing his face into hers.

"Faye Valentine." He whispered, and she could feel his breath against her lips. "And so we meet again."

"I can't say I've missed you."

Vicious only smirked, his eyes narrowing at her. She couldn't help but notice his eyes were like ice. So very, very, cold.

"I am a powerful man, Faye." He told her, and pressed his weapon against her. The chilled metal made her shiver. Or perhaps it was his voice. "And you made the mistake of becoming involved with me."

She only stared, petrified.

"But even beasts can spot their own." He said, and her mind begged him not to say it. "You would go far in the Dragons."

"No."

"What else do you have to loose, Faye?" He asked her, the question edging his way into her heart. "Think of what you can gain. Power. Money. Immortality."

"I will never fight beside you."

"Very well." Vicious replied, nonchalantly.

He pulled the trigger.


	6. Brothers in Arms

VI.

**Brothers in Arms**

_These fields of destruction_

_Baptisms of fire_

_I've watched all your suffering_

_As the battles raged higher_

_And though they did hurt me so bad _

_In the fear and alarm_

_You did not desert me_

_My brothers in arms_

The comm beeped.

Jet rubbed his eyes and sat up. It felt strange to be back in his own room again, as opposed to staked out on the couch in the living room. The Bebop may have been huge, but rooms appropriate for bedrooms were scarce, and well, with four people… he had been raised as a gentleman, besides

Looking over to the crate near his bed where his comm. rested, he could see that it was Faye. He was both relieved and disgusted. So the wench was alive and she needed his help.

_Too bad for her. _He thought to himself, _Her ship is probably totaled and she probably ran out of people to seduce. And now she calls on me for help, after storming out looking for trouble. If she wants to come back, she can come back with money and I'll think about letting her back on, but ain't gonna bail her out of trouble this time._

He closed his eyes, straightened his pillow, and attempted to fall back asleep.

_Dammit, Faye, it's quite a talent to be able to piss someone off when you're not even around…_

But he started up the Hammerhead, opened the hatch, and headed out toward the Red Dragon HQ, looking for a woman named trouble.

The rooftop was deserted when Jet landed his ship. A soft breeze whispered in his ear while sounds of city life echoed far below, oblivious. Only a dimly lit lamp above an iron door illuminated the area, casting shadows off air vents and loose gravel. A sick yellow glow. Empty.

"Faye?" He called out, praying she wasn't inside. Praying she hadn't gotten too involved with the Dragons. "Are you here?"

He stepped onto the ground, gloved fingers wrapping around his weapon, alert. Silence. Silence screaming. It was unnerving. Disconcerting. Put him on edge.

"Faye?"

He rubbed his forehead, then noticed a shadowed figure slumped against the concrete in the far corner. He rushed to it.

It was Faye.

Faye.

It hurt him to see her like this. Sprawled out on rocky concrete, limbs frail, her fair skin illuminated by fluorescent glow. Eyes closed, lips parted, thin strands of hair falling upon an expressionless face. Her shoulder was bleeding, crimson spilling onto shining vinyl. So very near her heart. He knelt down beside her, put his hand against her cool cheek. So weak, so vulnerable, and this was from a woman who always fought so hard.

He pressed his thumb against her wrist, the flutter of a pulse. She always fought so hard.

"Come on, Faye, lets go home."

And he picked the woman up and helped her into his ship as they took off into the night sky.

"_Look who's here." Faye taunted, "You must really want me back."_

"_Yeah, nice try." He replied, leaning against the concrete building._

"_You were jealous!" She smirked._

"_Yeah, in your dreams."_

_She stretched, arms reaching for the rose colored sky. "I'm still in the dark," she had told him, "I may never know anything about my past."_

"_It doesn't really matter, does it?" Spike replied without glancing at her._

"_That's easy for you to say." She spat, "At least you have a past."_

"_And you have a future." He shot back, flipping her a coin. "That's what counts."_

The ceiling of the Bebop. A cheap fan whirring. Legs sticking to plastic yellow couch. Faye's senses slowly came to her as she awoke. There was a sharp pain in her shoulder, heavy pressure as she noted the white bandages.

She groaned.

"Welcome back." Jet said, without looking up. He was playing solitaire on the table across from her. The scenario seemed familiar.

"You're wrong, Jet."

"Oh? About what?"

"Spike's not dead. His star is still up there."

"Yeah, if you want to call this piece of junk a star."

Yeah, she did.

HOME ON THE RANGE.


End file.
